


manageable static

by shou



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, ITS ENTIRELY KENMA, M/M, Metaphors, No Plot/Plotless, Trans Male Character, but its how i was thinking while writing, its implied thats hes, kenma centric, like rlly vague, uh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 03:56:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7785823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shou/pseuds/shou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Good days start with a bowl of cereal.<br/>Living is exhausting.<br/>Little things that make it okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	manageable static

**Author's Note:**

> so kids  
> this is  
> entirely projection  
> aka I FELT LIKE HOW I TRIED TO DESCRIBE IN THIS AND DECIDED TO SPIN THE WHEEL OF FATE TO PICK A CHARACTER TO PRJECT ONTO  
> so like,, this is pretty much entirely just me being a lame kid and writing how i feel and pretending its fanfiction  
> lmao  
> staticc

Good days start with a bowl of cereal, crunchy and cold and sweet and perfect, but always left not quite finished. They’re full of brushing hair out of his own eyes to see better, lifting the game up so Lev or Kuroo can see his new high score. Pictures of weird cats, sent to Shouyou, excited emoticons in return. He can stand up on his toes to kiss Kuroo, let hands wander up under his shirt without leaning away, even pulling the fabric away to let Kuroo ravish his collarbones and press his fingers against Kenma’s ribs to get him laughing. Good days end in smiles, sleepy goodnight texts to his excitable sunshine and curling into Kuroo’s chest to sleep away the night. 

 

Some days slip, a little too much downcast eyes and stuttered, half finished sentences. The world is too loud, sometimes. Even emptiness is too much, and he needs Kuroo to let him hide for a little. Shouyou leaves him phone messages on those days, ones he can listen to without having to respond. 

 

Kuroo always knows the days Kenma needs a little extra push to get up. It’s the days Kenma’s hair fall farther in front of his eyes, the days that start with shoulders pulled down by too much weight. Those days are itchy, the unbearable pressure of school too much for him. Lunch is spend curled up on his side, while Kuroo eats his lunch quietly. No touching. No talking. Maybe a few words to get Kenma to finish a juice box and half a sandwich. The static in his brain makes class impossible, and his paper turns into the canvas for scribbles that look more like coiled iron wool than anything else. Nails dig lines into his skin when he’s alone, crescent moons on his palms, red cross hatching on his thighs, long, curved racking marks across his chest, meeting at the sternum. At home, Kuroo gives him a handful of ice, or baking soda, or even sand. Ice for the cold, the second two for texture. Something to get under his nails or to numb his burning, tight skin. Sleep is impossible, at first, the black in his body so dark his lightless room feels blinding. But it does come, the transition to the next day, the next try. 

 

He’s okay, mostly. 

 

There’s Shouyou, bright and sunshine and happiness, making Kenma feel like maybe summer is okay, if it comes with toothy grinned boys with too much enthusiasm. He gets to hear about Shouyou’s day every evening, about every little joke and mini squabble with Kageyama. He gets to hear about their kisses, when Shouyou’s voice gets sort of hushed, sort of soft, and Kenma loves him. He loves how in love Shouyou is, how happy he is. Maybe Kenma can reflect a little of that. Maybe. He just knows he’s lucky to be allowed near the little sun ray. 

 

Kuroo is… Kuro. He doesn’t push, at least not on the pressure points he knows will leave marks for too long. They’re not really… there’s no defining understandable term for them. Kuro is just the most important person. He’s the one Kenma trusts with the horrible blackness inside him. As much as he hates it when Kuro has to clean up the mess that he turns into, on the not good days, he knows it’s how Kuro does things. Kenma also knows that like he has Shouyou, Kuro has Bokuto, someone to look to when things get muddled and some vibrance is needed. But at the end of the day, it’s just Kenma and Kuro, just like it always has been, just like it always will be. 

 

Living is exhausting. Everything drains him. He’s mismatched, some parts missing, something upside down or maybe inside out, something that makes him brain turn into pitchy oil and his fingertips into the cause of the stifling burns on his own skin. Something doesn’t work inside him, between his heart and his brain, something that drips tears that are too hot, when he’s unable to get a full breath out between the hitched sobs. The blinders of his hair can’t hide the mess he sees in the mirror, hides under layers and under scratches. Even Kuroo’s hands are unwelcome at times, when it’s just too much for Kenma to handle. Living is uncomfortable and makes Kenma want to hide, but even with all the glitches and scorch marks, there’s things worth living for. 

 

New cats on his walk to school. 

 

Game controllers with perfectly clicking buttons. 

 

Apples that aren’t mealy, covered in honey or lemon and cinnamon, fed to Kuroo between chiding affections. 

 

Sweater paws on him and low riding sweatpants on Kuro. 

 

Shouyou’s hair in the sunlight. 

 

Waking up against a bare chest with hands in his hair and a horrendous case of bedhead to laugh at. 

 

Little things that make it okay. 

 

Even if living is overwhelming, even if it makes Kenma want to give up sometimes, give in and implode, let the pressure of emptiness and anxiety collapse his entire being, he doesn’t. He’s got better things to do. He has to stay strong on the court, so he can see Shouyou push himself, so he can get Kuroo’s hand slapping his back in congratulations. There are pies to bake, thoughts to ignore, no matter how tempting it is to rip himself open. An entire life to live, pulled along through it by his friends. 

 

He’s not really okay. But he’s managing it. 

**Author's Note:**

> its 4:32:07 AM and i didnt even look back on this  
> theres an owl outside my window ((me@me: dont think about bokuto))  
> sorry kids this sucks lmao i hate life


End file.
